


Twenty-One Roses

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, Sass, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Altair is he star in The Bachelor but really has his eyes on the grumpy guy holding the microphone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-One Roses

Malik said, “This is the worst job I’ve ever had.” With his brows pinched together and a deep wrinkled frown, it made him look probably older than he truly was, setting his face out of place and turning it into something that wasn’t really him. The dim light of his screen let shadows creep over his face, his eyes dark as he glared into the camera of his laptop. With his ruffled hair, some might even dare to say he looked more like somebody who was seriously hang over.

 

“South Africa sounds pretty cool to me,” Kadar answered after a pause with a frozen picture and a deep sigh – he was more busy inspecting his nails than to feel intimidated by Malik’s glare. He was used to Malik being like a volcano most of the time - anger bubbling hot and unforgiven underneath the surface at all times before erupting in a mighty string of sass and sharp words, burning everybody in its way. “I mean… _Cape Town_! After all the shitty jobs you’ve had you finally hit jackpot.”

 

“They’ve introduced us to _him_ today.” It was said underneath a mutter of breath. Like it was the _worst_ thing that could have happened to him in live – as if he’d just told his brother tomorrow would be the day he’d die.

 

Kadar sat up, Malik could see how the blanket covering his chest slipped a little down to collect on his stomach, his laptop balanced dangerously on his knees as he pushed himself up higher against the head of his bed. His brows were meeting the line of his hair, lips shaped in a surprised ‘o’ – who would have thought his nineteen year old brother would be _this much_ interested into a crappy TV show? At least Malik thought it was – it w _as_ crappy and cheap TV and when he’d accepted the job he couldn’t believe his luck to finally work on a big production; but his crash came soon and he landed hard - now he was wondering what it was back then that drove him to pick up a pen and set his signature underneath the contract.

 

 

Rent. That was probably it. He needed the money so bad he didn’t even care anymore about who he was working for. The hard reality of finding his place in the business world had destroyed most of his dreams to follow scientists and researchers out into the wild, the rainforest or the desert, accompanying them on their expeditions – it certainly sounded more meaningful to follow somebody with a team of cameramen and soundmen who maybe was about to find the cure for Ebola. But not _this_.

 

“So what’s he like?” Kadar was hovering so close in front of the camera all Malik could really see was his big nose and his big round face that still looked more like the face of a child than a teen, chubby cheeks and dimples at the corners of his mouth every time he smiled.

 

Malik snorted. “You know I can’t tell you much.”

 

Kadar grinned, “But you will tell me _some_.”

 

He sighed and sent his brother a look which asked him for his sanity without using words. “What do you think he’s like? A pretty face without a brain, that’s all.”

 

Kadar chuckled, _snorted_ , and his whole frame was bouncing up and down. “What did he do?”

 

“What do you mean, what did he do?”

 

“You’re already hating him,” Kadar said and his chuckles turned slowly but steadily into a low rumble of laughter blossoming deep from his chest. This wasn’t fair – he could at least pretend to take him seriously! “He’s an arrogant little bastard who probably jerks off to his own reflection in the mirror,” Malik said bitterly with gritted teeth. Kadar right down exploded with laughter and rolled onto his side with his laptop slowly sliding off his knees coming to a halt on its side, the camera not facing Kadar anymore but the wall behind his bed. “Why?” He cackled.

 

Malik run his hand through his hair, ruffling it even more with big swatches standing up. “Be careful with my shirt,” he said in a mimicking too high of a voice and pulled his face into a grimace, “don’t ruin my hair, don’t touch me there, I’m thirsty…” He stopped and looked at Kadar, who was slowly sitting up again, with so much annoyance it was very well possible for Malik to drop dead with just from that right here and there.

 

“Don’t touch him where?” His brother grinned.

 

“I wasn’t him touching anywhere, I was just wiring him up.” Malik said it with a pout.

 

“Alright, alright,” Kadar chuckled and held up his hands showing Malik his palms. “So the dude is a jerk. Alright. But,” and at that he looked at Malik with serious eyes and lips tightly pressed together leaning close to the camera once more, “twenty fucking beautiful women!” He said it with such enthusiasm that it was a little scary.

 

Malik, with a flat expression and an emotionless, unimpressed voice said, “I’m gay.”

“I know, I know,” Kadar hummed and flipped him off with a waving motion of his hand. “But- twenty gorgeous women Malik. Think of that.” He held his finger up against his temple. “Just think of it for a second, will ya?”

 

“You obviously don’t get the concept of homosexuality, do you?”

 

Kadar groaned. “Just do your job Malik – don’t let that guy wind you up that much. Enjoy South Africa a bit.”

 

“I tell you, with him – that’s going to be impossible.”

xxx

After closing his laptop, Malik got up. His hotel room was too small to call it really a room, Malik thought storeroom was more fitting. But it had a bed, a bathroom and a closet for his clothes, not for him to come out (that already happened a few years ago when he was sixteen, his mother just shrugging back then and telling him she’d known since he was five and his brother looking as if he’d been just struck by a truck, obviously not having a clue at all about his big brother’s sexuality. Then again, Kadar’s only been eleven back then). Most people were expecting him to stay at fancy hotels like they’ve showed it on TV, that the crew for _The Bachelor_ was probably having lobster and steak every evening, simply leading a life in luxury. Most people were surprised when Malik told them how it really went down in the big businesses, that it was nothing like they thought it was. It didn’t surprise him that the media would create such false pictures, but it surprised him most people were dumb enough to believe them.

 

He personally didn’t like watching TV – there were times were he watched a game of football with his brother (but mostly to enjoy those really, really tight pants with those really, really hot asses in them) but mostly, he didn’t really need his TV. He certainly didn’t need his TV to watch all the crap they were showing, _Trading Spouses_ , _Kitchen’s Hell_ , _America Got Talent_ , _The Bachelor_ …

 

 

 _The Bachelor_.

 

He’d hated that show ever since they’ve started airing it. He thought it was ridiculous, twenty women acting like hyenas all of them trying to catch one man who _maybe_ could help them to get a bit of fame (and maybe a bit of a romance, too). Malik never said what those women reminded him of… Even he had his limits with his sass. The job paid good money though and Malik had gotten his foot into the big productions – not what he’d aimed for when signing the contract (mainly he signed it because he’d already missed to pay his rent two times and food was also nice to have every once in a while). At least they’ve paid for the long ass flight – but seriously, who thought it was alright to book a flight that would take thirty hours to arrive at the destination? Malik thought no matter how much cheaper it was than a direct flight, his trip had been nothing but a nightmare and no sane person would ever book something like that. Lobster and steak… pah. Malik snorted before setting his gaze onto his own reflection in the window overlooking the city to his feet, thousands of lights popping up like pinheads in the streets. Tomorrow they would actually go and get to work, no more tests running. Lucy, the producer’s assistant, arrived today and she told Malik they’d start with a few different shots of Altair at the Table Bay Hotel. Malik just hoped that tomorrow the little princess (Altair) would be nothing like the experience he’s had the pleasure of having today with. Otherwise that would surely mean his death (Altair’s of course).

xxx

“You know… Karen is an amazing woman. Amazing.” He held his hands apart and looked up against the ceiling of the big hotel room. “When I’ve picked her up I just _knew_ I made the right choice with her.” His eyes turned sideways, then straight to Lucy standing behind the camera. Malik already knew those looks. They always did them when lying – most people looked away when they were and during his time in the business, Malik learned how to read people’s signs. Altair was no different. “Remember you went up the Table Mountain, Altair. Tell us a bit about the view you have up there and how nice it was when she leaned against you when you were overlooking the city. Maybe she was afraid of the height, you could have comforted her,” Lucy explained as she looked on the sheet in her hands her glasses riding low her nose and a loose strand of hair slipping over her ear to fall into her eyes. “Repeat the last you’ve said and pick it up from there.”

 

Altair looked at her, a glimpse of annoyance showing in his eyes. In the end, he nodded before reaching up to fumble with his collar and tie again – clearly not used to wearing such clothes and it made Malik roll his eyes. He changed his weight from one foot to the other, held his arms a bit up higher and placed the microphone over Altair’s head once more. To Malik, Altair was nothing but an ordinary man who they’ve just squeezed into an expensive looking suit and gave him a nice golden watch, a mysterious background (Malik didn’t really know what they’ve come up with yet – he just assumed it was mysterious. That’s how it worked with the women, no? Not that he knew anything about women…). But to Malik, Altair looked lost in his big role; a man who couldn’t really fit into what was expected of him but too arrogant to admit to that. He knew, he wasn’t that bad when it came to reading people (and it had gotten him into trouble more than just one time. Malik could still remember the Ezio fiasco) and he probably wasn’t wrong about Altair. He assumed he was working in some big corporation in a small cubicle office; his boss couldn’t probably remember his name and it was nothing more than a 9 to 5 job that slowly sucked the life out of his veins. Altair was probably bored, had probably tried too many times in the past to find a new job (unsuccessfully, obviously) and only now given up on that – Malik thought it probably happened on a drunk night with his friends (but then again, Altair seemed like a person who didn’t have much friends) that somebody suggested to Altair to go to one of the many castings for crappy TV shows… and since that man looked as if he possessed no talent at all, Malik assumed that’s what made him end up with The Bachelor.

 

“When I’ve picked her up I just knew I made the _right_ choice with her,” Altair said but Malik sighed in frustration, arms slowly coming back down again. He pulled his headphones off his ears and sent Lucy a look. “We need to fix that microphone.” Again – but he didn’t say that, not this time. He watched her pushing her glasses back up her nose, eyes flickering in between him and Altair. She was nervous, annoyed and underneath a lot of pressure, Malik knew that – they’ve only got today to do a long list of shots and right now, it was going ridiculously slowly. The hotel in which they’ve booked the room for today was expensive, it wasn’t the hotel their bachelor was really staying at but it needed to look like it for the audience. Altair also certainly hasn’t met any of the women yet but the script was already written, from the first scene to the big finale. The women who would make it to the next round were already picked, Malik already knew who was going to be the winner and so far, there hasn’t been a single date – but Altair sure had to comment on every one of them as if he’d already met with those women. Right now they were at date number three, Karen who was supposed to get picked up by Altair and go up the Table Mountain to have brunch there.

 

Malik carefully put his microphone back down then went over to Altair. “If you’d stop messing with your clothes all the time, we wouldn’t have to do this every ten minutes,” he told him, eyes stern and full of _what the hell are you even doing here_.

 

“If you’d just do a good job, we wouldn’t have this problem at all.” Malik looked up at him as his fingers moved over the man’s collar and down his button up shirt to get the small microphone out between folders of fabric ruining the sound. He told Altair, “The problem is clearly you.” A quick sideway glance, a small roll of eyes and Malik clipped the microphone back to Altair’s chest not too gently and might have _-accidently-_ pinched a bit of skin in the middle of process. “Ouch!” Malik tugged at Altair’s shirt. “There you go.”

 

“Is this your first day or something?” Altair’s fingers brushed over his chest. “The first day of you robbing me of my nerves,” Malik replied and checked his operating system, adjusting it just how he wanted it to be before picking up the larger microphone again and resisted the urge -barely- to let it drop down onto Altair’s head. “Alright guys, can we move on now please?” Lucy stood in between them, blocking Altair’s answer on his lips as she snapped her finger at the cameraman. “Connor, are you ready?” Connor, a giant of a man who always looked like holding a miniature camera with how large his hands were and who absolutely had no clue how to move in small spaces (Malik had learned that much when they’ve traveled together on the plane, meeting Connor’s elbow more than just once every time he’d turned in his seat), nodded. “All set over here.” 

 

“Boys, pull it together and we go again in three, two, one-“ She made a rolling gesture with her hand, mouthing a _Go_ at Altair.

 

“When I’ve picked her up I just _knew_ I made the _right_ choice with her...”

xxx

“The moment I’ve kissed Nathalie was… magical. You know? It was perfect with the sunset and it was getting a little cold, she was probably just trying to warm up a bit against me but I’ve thought, why not? Why not grab the chance and go for it?” Altair looked at Lucy as if he was expecting an answer coming from her but moved on with talking – it was all an act, after all.

 

Malik didn’t so much pay attention to what he said. It was nothing but a load of bullshit to his ears and something he simply wasn’t interested into hearing. He was more interested into making sure Altair wouldn’t fuck up his microphone again, that they wouldn’t record anybody opening and closing a door down at the hall and certainly not that crying child outside in the pool below the room’s windows. He let go of the microphone with one hand, adjusted something on his instruments before he grabbed it again, holding it just a little closer to Altair’s head. He was wearing something different this time just so it’d look they’ve recorded the scene on the day he’s had his date with Nathalie. Later, when they actually would go out, the team would have to make sure to give him those exact clothes to keep the charade up. But Lucy had a big load of notes just for that, just for his clothing – there shouldn’t go anything wrong with that.

 

Malik watched him talking, mouth opening and closing, lips wrapping around each word. When he smiled it looked crooked thanks to that little scar there and Malik thought it couldn’t make him seem any more annoying – but it did, every time. It also didn’t help Altair was complaining in between every shot about either the air conditioning being too low, the air conditioning being too high, Malik pulling faces at him when he was talking so he couldn’t concentrate (which was a filthy lie, by the way), the way how the cables and microphone pinched and scratched him (probably true), that he was thirsty, that he was hungry, he wanted pancakes but not with chocolate syrup, his coffee was too hot (but he didn’t register Malik had ordered decaf for him, ha!)… The list was never ending. By the end of the day Malik could tell even Lucy’s patience was as thin as paper. She pinched the bridge of her nose every so often, rubbed her temple every once in a while; the evidence of a headache forming and Malik could sympathize with her. “If we could wrap up this last shot, that’d be great,” she said and gestured towards the bathroom. “Eighty percent of our viewers are women, we need to get done with that shower scene.” She turned her head without moving her body, looking at Rebecca and Shaun who were sitting behind one of the screens. “The lights are already set up in there, aren’t they?”

 

Rebecca, leaning back and lifting a Redbull up against her lips, nodded. She said, “A plane could land in there with how many spotlights we have.”

 

“And still, it won’t be enough to floodlight Altair’s big ego,” Malik muttered underneath his breath and Rebecca, who’s heard him, almost drowned in her own soda. Lucy, and Shaun, turned her gaze onto Rebecca. “Everything alright?” She asked. Rebecca, still snorting and dry heaving wiped her mouth and nose. “Fuck, yes everything’s alright.” She sent Malik a glare, a _Don’t do that again you idiot_ but kept silent. Malik answered with a smirk of his own, and Lucy who was rolling her eyes _hard_ probably wondered how she ended up working with the biggest idiots ever. “Altair, strip please.”

 

Since it was his clue, Malik crossed the distance between him and Altair, collecting the small microphone from his body and the remote clipped to his belt against his back. “How can you manage to… _tangle_ the cable this much?” It was an understatement to say Malik wasn’t pleased.

 

“It was _you_ putting it on me, I didn’t touch it at all.”

 

“Just the few times you’ve covered it up with your shirt,” Malik muttered and reached around Altair’s waist from behind to pick the cable off of him.

 

“You won’t have much trouble with that when I’m in the shower.”

 

“No, I just get so see a big hairy ass instead.”

 

“Could you two _please!_ Just stop with the nonsense?” Both Malik’s and Altair’s heads turned. There was Shaun standing, arms crossed in front of his chest with his glasses reflecting both Altair’s and Malik’s faces as he looked sternly at them – some of his feistiness was lost due to the fact he actually had to look _up_ at both man to meet their gaze. “Grow the fuck up,” he said. “Bloody novices.”

xxx

 

There were two things Malik really liked in life. One: men. Yes. He absolutely _loved_ men. He’d been craving dick since he was old enough to hold his own in his hands and make himself cum. He adored men and he’d never felt too shy to come towards them, to flirt with them, to give them his number; even though he tried to get it on with straight guys, that didn’t really stop him. Hell, how else where you supposed to know if the guy in front of you liked to go on a ride on your disco stick or was more interested into a pair of double d cup tits? Exactly. You didn’t know without asking. Malik learned pretty quickly what kind of man he liked, which leads to the second thing he really, _really_ liked in life: hairy men. Call him a freak, whatever he didn’t really care about anybody’s opinion but a dude with a nice chest and some hair on it (or maybe, a lot of it) was enough to turn him into a drooling mess dropping down on his hands and knees (literally spoken, Malik would _never_ get on his knees in front of anybody. Never).

 

Altair didn’t have hair on his chest. He was lean and there were muscles, yes, he was an attractive man (beside his personality) but sadly, he was a pussy who liked to wield the tool (a razor) of the devil himself and shave his chest. But it was a nice view none the less, water dripping down a well formed chest and dark skin, single droplets getting lost in small depressions and curves of Altair’s hipbones and there was a sin from his youth, a small tattoo pale and slowly fading; an eagle just above dark curls of hair leading in a trail down his crotch.

 

Malik got to see a lot in his job – he’d lost his modesty probably around the time he was working for this show in which they ate cockroaches and the women smeared all that honey over their chests and- alright, he didn’t want to go too deep into the memory. But watching a person showering wasn’t something that would sent a blush up his cheeks, he wouldn’t even call it exciting any more (but it wasn’t unpleasant either, even with a dickhead like Altair standing there, naked). “Connor, can you please focus on this area?” Lucy asked and pointed at Altair’s tattoo before adding, “Then go up his chest and zoom in on his jaw and lips.”

 

“I say she worked in the porn business in the past,” Rebecca muttered at Shaun, chin leaned on the palm of her hand as she watched rather unimpressed what Connor was filming on her screen. “Maybe soft porn,” she added as an afterthought and tilted her head just so, only to get a better view of that tattoo and the hint of a crotch. Shaun, the wise man he was, chose to ignore her question and it was probably for the better since Lucy sent them an angry glare, clicking her tongue at them.

 

Altair turned in the shower after Connor had filmed what Lucy wanted and presented his backside, a very well defined piece of back and wide shoulders with muscles moving over taut skin as Altair rose his hands to run his fingers through his wet hair, a waterfall of water running down his back and butt.

 

Malik cocked his head as his eyes followed the water. So maybe this job didn’t suck so much at all.

xxx

“How did you get that scar?” Her thumb was following the line of his lips when she asked him that. The sun was about to go down in front of them. The water looked like melted gold with the last beams of sunshine reflecting in it and with the slowly dying light, the cold came. They’ve built a big bed right in the middle of the beach and there was a bone fire, too. It was downright romantic if it weren’t for all the cameras and people standing there on the set and doing the last shot of the day. But Altair (and Vivian – or was it Kaitlin? Malik couldn’t really remember) had gotten used to people watching every bit of his movements and caught her wrist, gently, pulling it away from his face. “I’ve used to do parkour when I was younger. It’s not a spectacular story, I simply miscalculated the distance between a rooftop and a wall.” He turned her hand, kissed the back of it.

“Did it hurt?”

“It needed some stitches.” It neither was a Yes or a No to her question but the answer made Malik roll his eyes; he resisted the urge to gag. He could see out of the corner of his eye how Rebecca scooted closer to her screen, glee shining in her eyes and a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. “He’s getting good at this,” she whispered and Malik turned his focus back on Altair, watching rather unimpressed how he rose her hand to his lips again, kissing the tip of her thumb once more. It was her in the end who kissed him on the lips, who closed the distance and pulled his face closer to hers. “This is good,” he heard Lucy whisper behind him. “This is disgusting,” Malik muttered to himself.


End file.
